Paragons of their Kind
by Szeki
Summary: What would have happened if the heroes of Neverwinter were chaotic evil? The quote is a part of The Laughing Heart of Charles Bukowsky. Also I'm not a native English speaker. Yeah, and I also somewhat plagiarised Buffy, I'll edit it as soon as something meaningful comes to my mind. So have fun!


I wake up before sundown, with no apparent reason. That's how I am, I sleep like a cat, I get up every now and then to eat, to see if anything's wrong or whatever. My dad used to tell me I'm a disaster, cause I wouldn't let him sleep after a long day's work on the fishing boat. Sometimes he beat me, till I was screaming like a banshee.

I used to cry a lot, but now I don't, I'm dead silent even if I bleed. I'm a killer now, a cutthroat bitch, and yeah, my daddy got it right. I really grew up to be a disasterous woman.

So I open my eyes and everything's dark and webby around me. I'm in a dungeon under the crypts. There was a cult here, and a bunch of living dead, before we smoked them out. Now it's quiet, quieter than ever before, I can't even hear the rats fucking in the walls, which is odd, cause my hearing is the best that can be found. I took after my mom, who I never really knew, but she was apparently some stray elven lass that my dad knocked up for good.

So I get up and go to the central chamber, that is high and cold, and somewhat looks like a cathedral. It sort of makes me wonder, who built it and what for, then I realize that I don't actually care, cause they're not here anymore.

Instead of daydreaming I walk up to the center, where there is an altar on a pedestal, a bit glowy, a lot more gloomy. On my way I pass the spot where I've ambushed this yuan-ti necromancer just the day before. When I'm finished with the story you'll see, that in fact she was just a victim caught up in the big happenings. Her name was Guldan, and I know that I should've felt sorry for her, but still, I carved her heart out with a white hot dagger enchanted by my partner. All the things I do in the name of justice. Heh. And now all that remains of Guldan is a pool of dried up blood on the floor. It messes up the mosaic tiling of the chamber, and it's got a strong metallic stench, but I won't scrub it up, that's for sure. I'm not disgusted, I'm just still sorry, cause Guldan got finished so abruptly, she didn't even say a thing, just gasped for breath as blood filled her lungs. Then she died. Did I just say that I'm Sorry? Funny how language works sometimes.

Anyway I walk up to the altar, that's, according to my partner, the magical focus that made Guldan's major mojo work, and raised dead people all around the Beggar's Nest. Catcher's also here, never left. She's humming a tune to herself, while lying on her back, synching with the focus's unholy presence, and as far as I understand the song is something like this:

your life is your life.

know it while you have it.

you are marvelous

the gods wait to delight

in you.

Then I'm standing beside her, and she's looking up at me, her eyes are hazy, her skin is smooth, and I kiss her on the forehead, then on her lips. Her breath reeks, but hell, so does mine, we've been killing zombies for nearly a week. Still, when we get back to the inn and get paid, I'll make sure she takes a bath and brushes her teeth. I care for her, even though she is such a child sometimes. She forgets to eat, she forgets to bathe, she only does what she wants and throws herself in a tantrum if she can't. And now she kisses me back, but she's too weak to sit up, so it's kind of enervated, like the stir of a sleeping beauty.

Our employer, reverend Fenthick, the fool and her selfrighteous whore Aribeth accuse us of being _deathmakers_, the second worst thing that've happened in Neverwinter and they say we're overshadowed only by the Plague. I get the pun, cause I'm a fun lass. Actually, yeah, they're right, we _are_ somewhat like matchmakers, but we don't deal in love, we deal in death, but we get the job done no matter what, so we _should_ get paid the same way we work: _no matter_ _what._ And even though they're not willing to cough up more for our services, cause, they say, we loot and plunder, and we take the money of every other guy on the streets so that we spare their lives, but they're dead wrong. We've never charged Aribeth, neither her holier-than-thou pals for letting them get by. Freeloaders, that's what they're. I found that we are being way too much underappreciated here, with all the things going on in town.

So, we've cooked up a nice plot, so that they realize we are the only ones they can rely on. Catcher can be a real schemer, if she happens to put to use what's inside her pretty little fucked up head. But nevertheless I'm the one who makes things happen, cause I can charm people to do things my way. To bystanders all I am is just a girl, but they don't know, they can never know for sure about the real me, the lurking killer in the night, who slits the throats of our competitors in their sleep, cause we _must_ _be_ the best professionals around. Period.

I stroke Catcher's uneven, light hair, and while she's pretending to be asleep, I whisper into her ears that she should get ready, cause it's high time we set things move. But she's not answering, so I ask her in my kindest voice:

'Are we feeling good, love?'

And she asks, in her usual stupified, schizofrenic tone:

'Sorry... Do you like daisies? I do, but when I plant them, they always die.'

'Nothing dies, hon. You just need some fresh air, cause you've been lying in this pit for days.'

'Nah, that wouldn't help. The numbness will never go away. Because everything I put in the ground withers and dies' she says dreamily and her voice is somewhat sad, then, gazing up at the dark ceiling she confides me in. 'Now I'm naming all the stars.'

'You can't see the stars. We're underground. Also, it's daytime.'

'I can see them. But I've named them the same name, and now there's terrible confusion up there.'

'Alrighty' I shigh 'Knock yourself out then. Just don't forget to do your part, do you understand?' She moves, which I interpret as a slight nod, then I leave her alone. She couldn't be crazier, but I love her nevertheless, and I think I'll never forget the first time I caught an eye of her, in solitary confinement a few weeks back in time.

She was all beat up, with teeth missing and eyes black and tangled up in a straitjacket so that she wouldn't harm herself, or other people. I'd just gotten out a bit earlier. Some assholes broke me free when the prison riot started, I guess, to rape the hell out of me. I pushed the first one onto a rusty nail, and at the same time I got the stud standing next to him and held him like a meat shield. And while one of his pals was bleeding out, and the others tried to get to me through the guy, I choked him to death with my shackles. By the time I got out of my cell, I was unbound, unhurt, I had a sword and a knife, and seven more dead bodies on my account, but there were no guards, nor any daring heroes out there to drag me back to court again.

So as I started looking for my way out I passed by _her_ cell. She was silent and pale like death, sitting on the floor in front of her door, and I could see through the peephole that the walls around her were scratched heavily with mystical scribblings and doodles. So I broke in, then broke her out, and then we talked for a while in a barricaded guard room. She told me that the guards call her Catcher and I told her it's funny, cause she is a real attention catcher. And I smiled at her wryly, even though I know what it means to be a babe in the jail. There are things, that men always do, or are tempted to do to women when we can't fight back. Whatever, I'm not whining, cause later, when we found a magic grimoire in the Head Gaoler's drawer, she showed me why she got locked up in the first place. They'd better burned all damned spellbook for good in town, but on the other hand they never could've known that on our way out she'd set the whole district on fire. That's textbook plague control for you, Lord Nasher!

So as I was watching her in the Head Gaoler's office, sitting on the floor with the open book in front of her and lit candles all around us I got the feeling, that her magic can't be all smoke and mirrors, that there's more to her than some stupid abracadabra. So after a while I told her that we should get the most out of our situation and then, I think her eyes cleared up a little and she smiled at me for the first time.

We've been together ever since. Together we hid, together we killed, and we took our revenge on the guards, and then, after some days we captured a pair of hero wannabes. They must've thought that we were some kind of damsels in distress. Catcher was smiling like an angel, and so was I, and then one of the naive fools, some noble wildman, maybe half orc, or half ogre moved up closer to comfort me, and I slid a dagger into his eye and he bled into his brain, then died screaming enraged, and that was really unpleasant if you know what I mean. Catcher enchanted the other.

And that was the first time we heard about the Wailing Death, and that the plague called for a mystical cure, but when the Academy was attacked by some mysterious assailants, the reagents got loose somehow. And now here we are, with a bounty on these so-called Waterdhavien Creatures. Each of them's worth 400 gold pieces, and there're four of them altogether. The poor lad also told us that they've tracked one of them down already, and that's what's behind all the mess in the Peninsula. And after we've learned all these things from him, I slit his throat too.

I reach the surface in the cemetery, and I have to hurry, because the the sky is already going dark, so I walk down the streets and the zombies don't attack me anymore. I'm glad, cause this means that Catcher's doing what we've agreed on. She took control over the horde after we seized the source of Guldan's magic and finally its powers are ours.

Right now of course the horde's just moaning and crawling about, but I think some of the corspes smile at me, and that's how I can be sure that Catcher's with me, that she's paying attention to me, and suddenly I feel her magic working me up. It's like I'm somewhat hasted, full of power, and like I'm invincible, but I can't exactly describe it with words, just that this warm feeling follows me around, and by the time I get to the first checkpoint I finally realize, that this feeling must be her love.

I step into Thorin's house, the rooms are dim and there's dust covering everything. Thorin was, well, a contact of ours. We were directed to him right after we were sent into the district to deal with the undead situation. He was a desperate lad, he told us about his brother who joined some sinister cult, and that he was worried for his safety very much, and I remember Catcher mumbling under her nose something like this: 'Cults seem to be very hip nowadays.' but I was quite comforting back then, and I promised Thorin that we'd look out for his dear brother. And after we had found his body among the piles of corpses in Guldan's dungeon I made sure to tell him about the poor guy's fate, I even showed him the ring I pryed off his cold finger to make him trust me, and after I'd gained his trust, I persuaded him to show me how much he appreciated my efforts. He moved up to his wall safe where he kept his secret money unsuspecting what'd happen, and then I stabbed him in the back time and time again, until he joined his beloved brother in death, and after I did him in, I searched the house for other hideouts and valuables, and when I got back to him, he was just lying there unmoving on the floor, and then I threw him out the window onto the street, and dragged him to a pyre where he burned with countless others, and now he is dust in the wind, which means less troube for us. You should never leave evidance to be found.

Now all the things Thorin used to own belong to us, we've been using his place as a base for our operations since everything calmed down a little, and we've lived here for a couple of days now. The whole district's dead silent around the house, even the blaze's gone out, that Catcher's balls of fire let loose when we were cleansing the streets. Truth to be told, I like that spell a lot, cause it's flashy, destructive and I'm finally figuring out how to move about them so that I wouldn't get hurt, but others will.

It starts with a flicker of light leaping from Cathcer's fingertips, then it silently, like some will-o-wisp, makes its way to its destination, as if it was harmless, but then the next thing you know is a big crashing sound, and then there're buildings collapsing all around you, and if you're not quick enough you may get buried alive under the ruins or charred and torn apart by the explosion. Till now, I'm the only one who's lived to tell about how marvelous Catcher's spellwork is when she's in her element. One of my former lovers used to tell me, that all people are like instruments, and if you're good enough, you can play them any way you want. And if that's true, then Catcher's an instrument of war and I like her music best.

I've got a case hidden under the late Thorin's bed, I keep the stuff that I don't need at the moment in there. I work myself out of my leather armor, change my clothes too, then I check my ugly mug in a bowl of water. I should refresh myself – I think to myself, and I mull over it for some time, then I cast the idea away entirely. The play wouldn't be the same, it wouldn't be effective enough if I'd be clean like a whistle. So I leave my face sooty and smoky, and I practice my voice and acting for a bit. At first I'm a bit raspy, but that's good, this way it'd seem that I'd been screaming a lot lately, it makes people feel sorry for me. He-he-he.

After I'm all warmed up, I put on a raggy dress that I'd peeled off from a dead gal near the pyre when I got rid of Thorin's body. It doesn't fit me well, so I tear it a little as if I'd been struggling with someone, then I carefully arrange the clothes so that some of my lighter wounds can be visible – especcially the big, ugly one where I'd been bitten by one of Guldan's lame, zombie lieutenant. That fight was ridiculous after Catcher'd breached the guy's magical wards.

The last thing I need, and the one I'm most anxious about is my blade. I'd already pocketed a garrotte, and I can use nearly _anything_ as a shiv, but this weapon is too long to be easily disguised, but I'd rather have it on myelf now. If I have to cut myself out of a nasty situation, worst case scenario.

My favored blade is much like a rapier, only a bit shorter, usually highwaymen use it down in Amn, near Baldur's Gate. I've never been there, but I grew to adore it right away I got my hand on it, and when I got the chance I made some magic forged into it too. That cost us good money, but 'twas money well spent. I call the blade Neversleep, for one guy I used to sleep with always told me: 'Never sleep, never die.' I took his advice, and he should've also taken it, because in the end he _did_ sleep, and he never woke up again. It'd happened years ago. Sad times.


End file.
